The three of them paused to rest for a moment, none of them speaking a word.
In the sky above, the shifting nebulae stirred once more. Xue Cuo, who had been watching intently, said, “Zhu-shidi, Xi Tao-gege, the rain is getting heavier.”
The little white cloud above him shifted into a tiny parasol, drifting over his head. Xue Cuo held no weapon in his hand; instead, he slowly revolved a pale blue talisman.
Talismans are divided into five ranks: white, blue, green, red, and purple.
Since stepping into the Spirit Stage Realm, Xue Cuo’s understanding of Heaven and Earth had deepened, his spiritual platform stabilised, and he was now able to wield blue talismans.
At some point, he had become accustomed to using talismans to shield himself.
Xi Tao, having finished regulating his breath, opened his eyes. The Buddhist beads in his palm shone faintly. “Something is coming.”
Xue Cuo tucked the talisman away in his robes. All three of them felt the same foreboding. Simply running and hiding was no solution.
“Dragons come in waves. If we can barely open the spiritual platform for a moment, how are we to speak of grasping divine arts?”
Zhu Xiaoyou sat cross-legged on the ground, an ancient sword with a crescent-shaped pattern and a frost-hued blade resting across his knees, mottled faintly with rust. Arms folded, his robe swelled with the wind, outlining the tall, slender body of youth, which was lean rather than muscular.
A man who has wielded a sword for years could never be weak.
Zhu Xiaoyou’s features were unremarkable, yet the intent in his sword was anything but ordinary.
For such are sword cultivators: quick to draw when displeased, blades flashing when paths cross.
Arrogant, audacious, disdainful of all that is base.
There is sublime sword-Dao in the human world. A swordsman who can pass through the mortal realm into the Immortal Gate could never be a weakling.
Amidst the whistling wind, Xi Tao rose with his sword. His black hair streamed in the gusts as he passed calmly between the other two.
“I’ll hold them off. You go.”
They had exchanged few words, but in that instant of passing, each understood the resolve of the other.
Rain trickled down Zhu Xiaoyou’s brow, dripping from the tip of his nose. He said, “You? Against a stone dragon? You’ll never hold it back.”
Xi Tao slowed his pace and glanced over his shoulder.
The downpour drenched the yellow-robed youth, while the cold wind cut like arrows. “The Realm of Ten Thousand Gods does not open every day. If I stop it, you will have a moment’s chance to seek enlightenment.”
Zhu Xiaoyou smiled thinly. “And why should it be you?”
Xi Tao rolled the beads in his hand. His long lashes fell like feathers, like starlight dissolving into rain. His words were plain, direct: “My swordsmanship surpasses yours. There is a difference in our stations.
“If I let you face it, you would surely think I sought to suppress you and bear resentment. That is why I must stand forth.”
Zhu Xiaoyou clapped his hands, eyes glinting coldly. “What a bodhisattva’s heart you have.”
This time Xi Tao made no reply. He only glanced at Xue Cuo, who had remained silent all along, standing small beneath his conjured umbrella, eyes brightened by the rain.
“Xi Tao-gege, don’t go.”
There was a child’s vitality in him, fearless, unflinching. Fragile perhaps, yet immeasurably strong.
He had dared to defeat Bai Luoluo.
He had dared to say, before the multitude, This is unfair.
Some would say it was only because he had a powerful father and a formidable mother. Yet Xi Tao too had parents close to immortals, and he never once leaned upon that fact.
Why?
Because to step forth first from the crowd has always demanded courage.
“Hurry off.” Xi Tao’s words were terse. He ignored them both, striding ahead. His steps quickened, from a measured walk to a run. Rain and mist veiled the air like smoke.
He trod across dust, dead branches, sodden grass. The rain lashed his face, but he seemed not to feel it.
The dragon’s roar drew ever closer.
Xi Tao reached his ground. He might be wounded, he might gain nothing. But that would not stay him. He drew his sword in silence, the other hand turning his beads.
A silver-white dragon lowered its head through the clouds, loosing a thunderous bellow as it dived straight towards him. The beads shone ever brighter.
Xi Tao once more summoned the divine art of the winged-horse, a power he had realised through the nebulae upon entering the Realm of Ten Thousand Gods.
The youth rode his phantom steed with sword in hand, eyes ablaze, charging the colossal legend. The dragon started, then roared with fury, jaws yawning wide, claws outstretched.
Man and dragon hung suspended for a breath in mid-air.
A sharp crack—
The sword’s Dao-rhyme burst forth, forming a vast lotus blossom. But in moments it withered, and the dragon recoiled as though in pain.
Blood trickled from Xi Tao’s lips as his strength gave out and he fell backwards.
The dragon’s roar split the heavens. Wrathful, it lashed its tail, intent on smiting the presumptuous mortal into the mire.
Suddenly, something seized Xi Tao round the waist.
Amidst the storm, rain sprayed slantwise through his black hair. He looked up to see Zhu Xiaoyou’s wicked grin, his plain features suddenly vivid. “Stronger than me, are you? All that swagger and you’ve gone and botched it!”
For a heartbeat Xi Tao was dazed. What he thought was, “You didn’t leave?”
Zhu Xiaoyou arched a brow. “Leave? In the mortal world I rose through the Beggars’ Sect to deputy chief. The Beggars’ Sect does not run from battle and neither do I!”
He flung Xi Tao towards safety, drew the frost-bright long sword, and levelled it at the azure dragon.
“Come taste my blade!”
He charged forward, brimming with reckless spirit, the sword tip cutting through the rain as cold as frost.
Xi Tao landed on the ground in a rather ungainly heap.
“Xi Tao-gege!”
Xi Tao turned round. Xue Cuo stood there, clutching an umbrella, propping himself up on his legs, gasping for breath.
He glanced towards Zhu Xiaoyou, then back at him, clenched his fist and said, “I was too rash. I told you already…”
Bang—
A clod of mud slammed into the ground, splashing rainwater everywhere.
The two stared in shock. Looking again, they saw Zhu Xiaoyou with half his body buried in the earth, sticking out straight like a javelin.
The corners of Xi Tao’s otherwise calm mouth twitched upwards. “Deputy chief, at least I managed to block a strike.”
Zhu Xiaoyou flushed crimson. It was hard to tell whether from the blow or from anger. Struggling free, he shook out his headband and declared stiffly, “Once more! This time I’ll give it my all!”
Xue Cuo took a step back.
Xi Tao thought for a moment, then took two.
Zhu Xiaoyou raised his sword again and proclaimed in a loud, ringing voice, “A swordsman fears nothing, even in the face of death! As long as a blade is in my hand, my heart is invincible. Comrades, follow me—”
Xue Cuo tugged down his rain hat and bolted. Though injured, Xi Tao was little slower.
Zhu Xiaoyou stamped his foot in fury. What swordsman turns tail on the battlefield? I, Zhu Xiaoyou, would rather die than retreat!
He drew his sword and charged at the dragon.
The dragon rolled in the clouds, thrust its head out, and gave a long, sonorous roar. The blast of its breath shredded the curtain of rain.
Xue Cuo and Xi Tao were running neck-and-neck, each testing the other’s speed.
“Zhu-shidi is truly a hero of his age!” exclaimed Xue Cuo.
Xi Tao, light-footed, darted ten feet ahead in an instant. He gave his measured verdict: “There’s a righteous edge to his blade, though it may not be sharp.”
Xue Cuo nodded gravely. “Indeed.”
The pair raced at full tilt when suddenly a familiar figure flashed between them, leaving only a blur of legs, a gale of wind and rain, and the enraged bellow of dragons.
Xue Cuo’s eyes bulged. “Zhu-shidi?!”
Xi Tao glanced back, then abruptly quickened his pace. “Xue Cuo, don’t look back.”
But Xue Cuo did. Three dragons bore down on them, maws gaping, claws outstretched.
Xue Cuo: “!!!”
He slapped several wind-riding talismans onto himself. With the dragons in pursuit, he shot ahead in a streak of dust, overtaking Xi Tao and catching up with Zhu Xiaoyou.
The three of them ran as though their lives depended on it, neither yielding an inch.
“Xi Tao-xiong!” cried Zhu Xiaoyou. “You stay behind and hold them off! My swordplay is still beneath yours!”
Xi Tao cast him a sidelong glance, his expression restrained and indifferent, reminiscent of the sheltered noble ladies in the storybooks Zhu Xiaoyou had read.
“Zhu-xiong, you are bold and unflinching. Each man must answer for his own deeds.”
Xue Cuo was running so fast his rain hat almost flew off, his little white cloud barely managing to cling to his head. Wind filled his mouth, his cheeks whipped about, and with great effort he rasped, “Zhu-shidi, what did you do to provoke them?!”
Zhu Xiaoyou stiffened. After a long pause he muttered, “I thought they couldn’t understand human speech.”
“In the Beggars’ Sect… it’s tradition to start a fight with words first…”
The murderous look in Xue Cuo’s eyes made Zhu Xiaoyou shrink back.
“Careful!”
Xi Tao grabbed Xue Cuo and pulled him backwards just in time to avoid a dragon’s tail crashing down.
The three dragons reared their heads, their might overwhelming. The three disciples were almost out of room to retreat.
Zhu Xiaoyou gritted his teeth, drew his sword and shouted, “You two go! I’ll use a secret art of the Beggars’ Sect. I guarantee all three dragons will chase me alone!”
Xue Cuo sprang from Xi Tao’s arms, stepped into Flowing Cloud Steps, flicked his hand, and thirty-two talismans flew out. His small face hardened with grim severity.
“I’ll do it.”
Xi Tao froze, staring as the talismans soared into the clouds, rain dripping from the ends of his hair. “How certain are you?”
Xue Cuo brought his fingers together and fixed his gaze on the circling dragons. “Twenty percent.”
“Twenty percent?!” Zhu Xiaoyou shouted. “Shixiong, fall back! I’ll block them! I’ve thirty percent for sure! I…”
“Ignite!”
The thirty-two talismans ignited all at once. Golden lightning patterns flared, spreading in ripples like water, forming a blazing golden sun wheel sketched in light, suspended in the air.
Within the wheel stood a giant, bare-chested, muscles surging with fierce beauty. His body was wreathed in searing fire, as though his immortal spirit itself were burning. In the pouring rain, he slowly lifted his head towards the heavens.
Almost against his will, Zhu Xiaoyou followed the giant’s gaze.
Buzz—
A wave of scorching heat burst forth, evaporating the rainclouds in an instant and revealing the pitch-black night sky beyond.
The dragons shrieked, writhing in panic. Deprived of cloud cover, they dropped like dumplings into a pot, crashing to earth with a deafening boom.
Xue Cuo gasped for breath, his forehead dripping with sweat, his clothes dried to a crisp by the heatwave. He wiped his brow and exhaled heavily.
Zhu Xiaoyou collapsed to the ground with a thud. Xi Tao, however, clapped his hands softly and said, “Such a marvellous technique, such formidable power. When did you discover dragons cannot live without the clouds?”
Xue Cuo’s face clouded with unease. “I guessed it. But there was a reason I never tried before.”
Still shaken by the sight of clear skies for miles around, Zhu Xiaoyou asked haltingly, “What reason?”
“Renshu-gege said the Golden Crow Sun Wheel is also a Xianghuo deity… This is the Realm of Ten Thousand Gods… judging by the changes in the starry nebulae, they must be gods from long ago.”
Zhu Xiaoyou frowned. Xi Tao still looked puzzled. “What do you mean?”
Zhu Xiaoyou stared at the shifting nebulae above, then shivered. In a low voice he asked, “Xue-shixiong, are you saying there may be enemies of the Golden Crow Sun Wheel among these stars?”
Xue Cuo was silent for a while, then gave a heavy nod.
At that moment, the quiet nebulae suddenly shifted, slowly condensing into the shape of a vast giant draped in flowing ribbons.
Outside the Realm of Ten Thousand Gods, Fang Longxi was watching a few other disciples when suddenly he scratched himself and muttered, “Why does my shoe feel a bit hot?”
